


Blame It on the Goose

by Nokomis



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Darcy,” Natasha says, “it is my duty as Clint’s friend to inform you that he is a moron.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It on the Goose

**Author's Note:**

> For deeryma. <3

The thing about being friends with Thor is that sometimes, through no fault of your own, you lose sight on what is a normal, _human_ amount of alcohol to imbibe in and somehow slip into Asgardian drinking standards, which… Well. Darcy would give her left pinkie-toe to attend one of their parties, if this is what their idea of a casual evening at home is.

She’s in prime condition to offer up a pinkie toe, actually, because she can’t quite _feel_ her feet right now. Thor has swept Jane up in one of his soul-crushingly epic kisses, and around her the Avengers are all equal shades of plastered, celebrating taking down Korvac before he could cause irreparable harm to the fabric of the universe. Darcy is given to understand that celebrations like this go down pretty much every time they take down a top-tier supervillain, though Clint had confessed to her that they had sometimes graded on a curve to determine who was top-tier.

Darcy had intended to get more awesome secrets out of Clint, but he had the nerve to fall asleep on her. Literally on her; he was using her legs as a pillow, which Darcy suspected was another culprit in the Darcy-has-numb-toesies issue.

“Get off,” she finally tells him, jiggling her leg as best she can in an attempt to jostle him awake. He responded by snuggling his face into her thigh, which was nice, yeah, but Darcy has to pee something fierce. “Move it or lose it, buster.”

“Think I’m safe enough,” Clint mumbles into her leg.

“Not until after I go pee, you’re not.” Never let it be said that Darcy Lewis is a soft-spoken damsel. The pressure on her legs subsides as Clint sits up, and then leans back into the couch, looking like he immediately regretted the quick motion.

She only stumbles a few times on the way to the bathroom, but one of those times was over some electronic gizmo that was probably a Stark prototype worth millions, and thus didn’t even count. When she returns to the couch she’s claimed as her own, Natasha is there, giving Clint a stare that would have Darcy shaking in her boots. 

Clint is somehow accustomed to Natasha and her lethal eyes, and also has the utter lack of self-preservation to look _away_ from the super-assassin and grins up at Darcy. 

“I can go if you two are busy,” Darcy says, because while it might be a primo couch, it’s not worth incurring the wrath of Black Widow to sit there. Darcy might have a little bit of a fear-crush on Natasha. Might.

“Sit,” Natasha commands. Darcy obeys, because again, not stupid.

“Come on, Tash, we don’t have to do this,” Clint says in a wheedling tone, and Darcy suddenly wishes that she was a lot more sober. 

“We made a pact,” Natasha tells him. Darcy sinks back into the couch and tries to will herself invisible. If there was ever a time to spontaneously develop superpowers, this is it.

Unfortunately, judging from the way that Natasha is currently glaring at Darcy, she’s still as superpower-free as ever.

“Darcy,” Natasha says, “it is my duty as Clint’s friend to inform you that he is a moron.”

“That’s… not what I was expecting,” Darcy blurts out. Everyone already knows that Clint is a moron; it’s one of his more charming character traits.

Natasha continues, as though she doesn’t hear Darcy. “And as such, he hasn’t asked you out properly because he’s convinced that you don’t like him.”

Darcy blinks a few times. “Wait. Are you being Clint’s _wingman_ right now?”

Clint himself looked as though he wanted to teleport anywhere that this conversation was not happening at.

“I’m looking after his interests, yes,” Natasha agrees. 

Darcy begins to giggle, and manages to say, “Dude, no wonder you’re single, if this is your usual M.O. with the ladies. I bet they all go running screaming into the night.”

Clint looks up at the ceiling. “Never an alien attack when you need one.”

Natasha, on the other hand, looks _delighted_ at Darcy. “I think you’ll do.”

Darcy shakes her head. “Not til somebody actually asks me. This isn’t seventh grade.”

Clint opens his mouth, but Darcy leans over and puts a finger over it, shushing him. “Tomorrow. When everyone involved hasn’t been drinking whatever the hell that purple stuff is.”

“Tomorrow,” Clint agrees, smiling at her.

Natasha makes a disgusted sound and goes to refill her glass, and Darcy leans over and whispers, “You didn’t have to terrify me into going out with you, you know.”

“She’s very protective,” Clint shrugs, and smiles fondly at her. “She doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

“I’d say she’s happy that way,” Darcy replies.

Clint shrugs in that noncommittal way he has, and Darcy leans against him, propping her feet up on the couch and letting her eyes drift closed.

Tomorrow is going to be an excellent day.


End file.
